


Trigger On The Window

by sayasamax3



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Space, Gun Violence, M/M, Mundane Space Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayasamax3/pseuds/sayasamax3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ah, sorry about that," the man says as he pulls Izumi to his feet, his brown eyes skittering up and down Izumi’s frame, never quite meeting his gaze. "I was just--uh--"</p><p>"What, in a hurry to get your trousers mended?" Izumi mutters darkly.</p><p>"Uh, mended--?" The man starts, his eyes darting around the room, before blustering on, "Um! Yes, actually, I--yes, my, uh, trousers--everything really, needs mending! Immediately!"<br/>---<br/>Written for @Filledbuns as part of the Twitfam Secret Santa 2015!  Happy reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger On The Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nana (@filledbuns)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nana+%28%40filledbuns%29).



> Happy holidays to everyone! 
> 
> Here's my gift for Nana (@filledbuns)! I hope you enjoy it! I fear I may have been liberal in my interpretation of your prompts...
> 
> The only thing to warn for is that there are two! scenes! involving a gun, but it's never fired. There's also some smooching. Be warned. 
> 
> Main pairing is HamaIzu, but AbeMiha, HaruAki, and Haruna->Hamada are all implied and/or joked around with. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Even after centuries of terraforming, Mars is still, by and large, a red desert.   

 

In general, Izumi Kousuke is okay with this.  He has a spacious apartment over his tailor's shop, which was handed down to him by his parents when they retired to the moon, and he gets on well with his neighbors, most of whom he's known for years.  If the view from his window isn't as verdant as those in the Green Sectors, well--the stars are just as pretty when seen over russet sands as they are when seen over treetops. Probably. Izumi wouldn’t know.

 

Incidentally, the stars are not much of a consolation in the middle of a summer's day, when the whole street's power has mysteriously shut down, leaving Izumi manning his shop while woefully bereft of climate control.

 

He takes this happenstance as a divine ordinance to allow himself an early lunch break, and is just on his way out the door when someone _rushes_ into the shop, knocking him flat on his back. He wheezes, the wind knocked out of him, and shuts his eyes tight against the pain throbbing in the back of his head.

 

The hurried footsteps of the intruder stop a few paces away, and there's a moment of quiet where Izumi lays on the floor, dazed and increasingly irate, before footsteps sound again, much more hesitant this time, and headed once more in his direction.

 

A dust-smeared face surrounded by a choppy mien of blond hair appears above his a moment later, and a broad, similarly filthy hand is offered to him.  "Ah, sorry about that," the man says as he pulls Izumi to his feet, his brown eyes skittering up and down Izumi’s frame, never quite meeting his gaze. "I was just--uh--"

 

"What, in a hurry to get your trousers mended?" Izumi mutters darkly, staring down the man, daring him to meet his ire head-on, and feeling petty satisfaction when the stranger does, only for his expression to grow more chagrined.

 

"Uh, mended--?" The man starts, his eyes darting around the room, before blustering on, "Um! Yes, actually, I--yes, my, uh, trousers--everything really, needs mending! Immediately!"

 

Suspicion (or maybe a concussion) knocks at Izumi's mind as he gives the man a pointed once-over.  His clothes, certainly, aren't in the best shape, but from what he can see, there's nothing so out-of-sorts that it would justify _barreling_ into any tailor's shop, never mind his own.

 

"I think," Izumi says, his words measured, "They need cleaning, more than they need mending.  The laundromat's down the street, sir."

 

The man rolls his eyes and grimaces, as though _he's_ the one being inconvenienced by this increasingly bizarre exchange.  Shouting from the street steals the irritation from his expression, however, replacing it with an apologetic frown that Izumi doesn't quite understand until he's staring at it over the barrel of a gun.

 

"Sorry about this, but do you have anywhere I could hide?" The man asks, like he's asking to use the restroom.

 

Izumi wonders how he’d missed the gun. Wonders if the gun is loaded, if the man would really shoot him. He doesn't think so, be he also doesn't feel like testing his hypothesis.

 

"Well okay then," Izumi mutters, half-turning toward the back of the shop before gesturing for the man to follow him.  From the corner of his eye, he sees the gun lower.

 

Izumi leads the stranger into the back room, then up the narrow stairs that lead to his flat, then through the main hallway, until he's reached the attic's drop-down door.

 

"Stay up here for now," Izumi says as pulls the door down.  It takes a few good tugs to get the step ladder to unfold, and when it does the hinges let out a terrible, put-upon groan.

 

The man places a foot gingerly on the lowest step of the ladder.  The ladder bows in a bit at its bottom hinge. "Uh, you sure this can even hold my weight?"

 

Izumi scowls, "Just get a move on, would you?"

 

"Yes sir," the man grumbles, pulling himself up the ladder with unnecessary slowness.

Izumi sighs, then starts folding the ladder back up once the man has pulled his legs up into the attic.

 

"Wait, what are you doing?"  The man asks, eyes widening with panic.

 

"Closing you in," Izumi states plainly, his hands holding the attic hatch half-open, just open enough to continue speaking face-to-face. "Obviously."

 

The stranger’s eyes narrow in suspicion, "Yeah, but _why?_ "

 

Izumi hums in fake consideration, making a dramatized thoughtful expression.  Then he grins-- a cheery, spiteful thing--up at the man, "You know, I haven't decided yet."

 

As he closes the hatch door, Izumi catches a glimpse of the man’s shocked, gaping expression.  

 

Izumi brushes the dust off his hands as he makes his way back down to the store, satisfied.  As he descends, the lights flicker back on and the building fills with the gentle hum of the climate control.  Izumi grins wider.

  
_Time for me to take that lunch break._

\--

Izumi never gets his lunch break.  Not five minutes after he's trapped the stranger in his attic, two officers stomp into his shop.

 

"Excuse me sir," the taller of the two says, scowling as he takes his cap off and sticks it under his arm.  His posture is over-stiff, like he’s fighting down the urge to apologize for intruding.   "I'm officer Hanai, and this is Officer Suyama.  We've been looking for a fugitive--a tall man, blonde, who goes by the name Hamada Yoshiro.  A neighbor advised that they'd seen him run in here.  Is that correct?"

 

Izumi looks between the two officers, both tall, broad, and clearly done with the entire day, and makes his decision.  "I think so, officer, yes."

 

The second officer, Suyama, has similarly close-cropped hair and a kindly face (‘ _the Good Cop_ ,’ Izumi decides).  He gives Izumi a patient, inquisitive look.  "You think so?"

 

"You see," Izumi says, giving himself a moment to carefully construct his next few sentences, "Earlier, my shop lost power.  It only came back a few minutes ago, actually."

 

"Yes," Officer Hanai says, "This man--Hamada--he seems to have shut down this sector's electricity.  It's unclear why, as of yet, but he's already wanted for theft, among other things."

 

"Well," Izumi says, then continues, "When the shop lost power, I went to step out and see if it was just me, or the whole street.  As I did, someone ran in and knocked me over.  I hit my head when I fell, got the wind knocked out of me.  I imagine they found the back exit, because by the time I got up again, they were gone."

 

They ask him a few more questions--could he describe the man?  Somewhat. Taller and broader than himself and sure, maybe blonde.  Had the man said anything? No, not a word, not even a _sorry_ , the bastard.  Would he please call and let them know if he saw the man again? Of course, anything to help put a criminal behind bars.  And then they set off, leaving with his well-wishes and his business card for good measure.

 

Once they’ve gone, Izumi collapses onto his countertop and expels a huge, weary sigh.  He's not sure why he didn't just bring the officers to his attic and present them with--Hamada, they had called him?--on a silver platter.  But he's done it now, he's sheltered a criminal, for no other reason than because what? He doesn't want to be predictable?  Wants to see the shock on the man's face when he realizes Izumi lied for him?  What ridiculous motives, since when has he been so reckless?

  
Izumi sighs again, and rubs at the sore spot on the back of his head . What’s done is done,and he supposed there’s nothing left to do but stay the course.

\--

"Okay, you can come out now," Izumi calls as he opens up the attic once more.  The police are long gone from the neighborhood, and he's closed shop for the day, at the exact same time as he always does.  He wonders if that makes him seem more or less suspicious to his neighbors.

 

No answer to his call comes from the attic.  Nervous energy worms its way through his chest as hesitantly, he makes his way up the ladder.  Should he anticipate anger?  An ambush?   To have his head blown off the minute he's visible over the lip of the hatch entrance?  It hits him now, finally, what a dangerous and foolhardy thing he's done.  A fugitive held him at gunpoint, and instead of handing him over to the authorities when he could have, he let the threat stand. Whatever happens to him next, he knows he’s earned it.

 

Reluctantly, Izumi pulls himself into the attic. Immediately he sees why, exactly, he did not receive an answer to his call.

 

Hamada is deep in sleep, sprawled out on the attic floor, a bag of old clothes commandeered for a pillow.  He's snoring, grinning in his sleep, and most importantly--his gun belt is no longer on his hip, but beside him.  Izumi tip-toes over to where it lies, intent on emptying it of its bullets, only to find that it already is. A quick search through the few pouches attached to the belt uncovers no new ammunition--no plasma rounds, no copper or brass bullets, nothing.

 

Seething, Izumi grinds his teeth, plants his foot on Hamada's hip, and gives the man a nice, very forceful shove into wakefulness.

 

"Get up, you jerk," Izumi says, watching with satisfaction as Hamada scrambles to sit up, then to get away from Izumi when he sees the gun in his hand.

 

"Th-that's my--" Hamada stammers, clearly  still with one foot in dreamland.

 

"Yeah, it's you _unloaded gun_ , you utter asshole," Izumi says, "I can't believe you tried to hold me up-- _in my own shop_ \--with this toy."

 

"It’s not a--and what, did you _want_ it to be loaded?" Hamada asks, his pitch spiking with incredulity.  Izumi scowls, and that seems to make something click for Hamada, because the nerves fall away from his face and instead, he grins.  "Oh, you're just mad because you fell for it, huh?"

 

Izumi contemplates throwing the gun at Hamada's head.  He tosses it to the floor instead, satisfied that the clatter makes Hamada jump.

  
"Should've turned you in when I had the chance," Izumi mutters, turning back to the attic door.  "Whatever, get downstairs.  I'm making dinner."

\--

Izumi gives Hamada some of his brother's old things to change into, and demands the man clean himself up while Izumi cooks.  He doesn't hear the other enter the kitchen, and jumps a foot in the air when Hamada clears his throat to announce his presence, unused to having visitors.

 

"That smells nice, whatever it is," Hamada says, as Izumi brings two bowls of soup over to his small kitchen table.  "Oh, uh, I'm Hamada, by the way.  Hamada Yoshiro.  You are?"

 

"'S just a vegetable soup," Izumi murmurs.  Sitting across from Hamada now, with the man all cleared of grime, hair and skin still damp from the shower, it's obvious that he's harmless.  Or, maybe just mostly harmless--he's definitely still a wanted criminal.  But he also looks a bit like a wet, nervous dog, and that makes it hard to take him seriously as a threat.  "And my name's Izumi."

 

"Izumi....?" Hamada says, taking the bowl and utensils offered to him.   He digs into the meal with a gusto that embarrassing to watch.

 

"Kousuke.  And it's really not that good," Izumi mumbles, but Hamada pays him no mind.

Izumi considers just following suit, eating his meal and ignoring his guest, but he can't.   He has questions, and he's waited too long for answers.

 

"Why'd you shut the power down?" Izumi asks.  Hamada cocks his head to the side at the question. "The police said you did."

 

Hamada coughs to clear his throat.  "Uh, diversion?"  He says after a moment, "And back-up systems are generally a bit easier to break through, anyway."

 

"Break through to what?" Izumi asks, "They didn't seem to know what your goal was today."

 

"The local prison.  Two of my associates were in there; I got them out," Hamada says, simply, as though recounting a trip to the grocery store.

 

"And where are they now?" Izumi allows a lazy smirk to curl his lip, "They ditch you?"

 

Hamada rolls his eyes. "We split up to run away.  Actually, can we turn on the news or something?  I wanna see if they made it out alright."

 

Izumi nods, brings his right wrist--the one circled by his command band--up to his mouth and says, "News channel."  

 

Immediately, the kitchen wall to the right of them shimmers to life, the local news channel playing out over the screen.  The wall thrums with gentle vibrations as the audio kicks in a second later.

 

"Wow, you still use a comm band?" Hamada says, "Talk about old school."

 

Izumi ignores him, and looks toward the wall.

 

_"--attributed to intergalactically-wanted criminal, Hamada Yoshiro.  While at first his motive was unclear, as no business reported a theft, authorities have now reported that it was likely a part of a plot to release two criminals from the Nishiura Penitentiary, Tajima Yuuichirou and Mihashi Ren.  The break-out was only discovered within the past hour, and all three criminals are still at large, leaving the community wondering--"_

 

"Ah, that's good," Hamada says, with a relieved sigh, even as a picture of his own face is displayed on the wall next, together with pictures of the escaped convicts. "If those two haven't been caught yet, then they're probably alright."

 

Izumi raises an eyebrow at this.  "So they did ditch you. And you're happy about that?"

 

Hamada shrugs. "Well, we don't really travel together anymore.  But we are friends, and I owed them a favor.  They're probably halfway to Ceres by now."

 

"Ceres?"

 

"Yeah, Ren's got a beau there, and law enforcement's non-existent."

 

"Uh-huh," Izumi mutters, "And when are _you_ going to make your way to Ceres, or wherever?"

  
Hamada gives him bright, confident smile.  "I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."

\--

Hamada is not, in fact, out of his hair the next day.   They wake up to the news that Hamada's spaceship had been found on the outskirts of town during the night, and that the authorities are searching it for clues as to where he could be.  Hamada assures Izumi that his ship can't be used to find him.  Izumi decides, for his own peace of mind, to believe him.

 

"Well, if you're going to be here a while, I guess I can't keep you on my couch, huh?" Izumi says over lunch that day.  Hamada had, apparently, spent the morning deep-cleaning his kitchen, and then made them both lunch.  Izumi can’t remember the last time he’d had such a considerate house guest.  Or any sort of house guest.  Well, he does like his privacy.

 

"I won't be here _that_ long," Hamada says, "I just need to wait for all the hype to die down, then steal another ship."

 

Izumi raises an eyebrow.  "You're not going to take back your own?"

 

"I’m undecided," Hamada says, "It’d probably be safer to steal a different one, since they’ll probably monitor mine.  But I like my ship, it knows me."

 

"Right," Izumi replies, unimpressed.  "All the same, if you want, you can stay in the guest room.  Just don't open the blinds, alright?  I don't need some nosy neighbor seeing you."

  
"Yeah, that'd be bad," Hamada says, looking thoughtful. Then--"Wait, you had a guest room, and you made me sleep on the couch?"

\--

The days turn into one week, and then two.  Izumi leaves Hamada his spare command band, and usually comes back from work to find the older man in the living room, with the news playing on one wall, and doing something very suspicious-looking online on another.

 

The first time this happens, he snatches the comm band away from Hamada and turns the walls off with a shouted command.

 

"What do you think you're _doing_?" Izumi hisses, his eyes scanning the now empty walls like he’s going to find some remnant of Hamada’s web-browsing lingering there. "What if your--whatever your doing--is traced back here?  Are you trying to get us both arrested?"

 

"Relax," Hamada says, palms up in a placating gesture, "You don't get as far as I have by _not_ knowing how to make yourself untraceable.   And I'm just searching the sector for potential places to get a ship from.  Also  spying on the police.  And keeping up with the news! Man, have you heard some of the things they've attributed to me?  I sound like such a bada--"

 

Izumi throws the comm band back in his face.

 

"Okay, that was rude and unnecessary," Hamada says, giving Izumi a scolding look. "Even if you _are_ scared."

 

"I'm--" Izumi wants to say he's not afraid, only he is.  The longer Hamada stays here, they more likely he is to be caught, and Izumi is starting to think that would be a very unfortunate thing, if only because he’s gotten used to Hamada’s handiness around the house.  He sighs instead, sinking into the couch beside Hamada.  "Are you sure you can't be traced?"

 

Hamada nods.  "Positive."

 

Izumi pulls his legs up to his chest, resting his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms.  There's quiet for a moment, before Izumi asks, "So, what are they saying about you on the news?"

 

"Oh, today they're talking about some train heist I pulled off on Europa a few years back.  They made me seem very dashing, I think the news anchor is falling in love with me."

 

Izumi snorts. "Haruna Motoki?  In your dreams."

 

"Hey, it could happen!"

  
"Yeah, _in your dreams._ "

Hamada gives Izumi a playful shove, sending him back against the arm rest.  Izumi responds in kind, pushing at Hamada's leg with the flat of his foot.

Izumi turns the news back on, and they settle in.

\--

They begin to spend their evenings watching and talking about the news--Izumi listening with rapt attention as Hamada confirms or denies whatever story is being told about him that day, expounding on the true stories with dramatic flair.  His stories are filled with daring, luck, and terrible decisions, and they remind Izumi of just how large the universe is.  Izumi had never been discontented with his lot before, but hearing Hamada's stories start to make him wonder if it's not a little sad, that he's spent his whole life on Mars, rarely even leaving Sector Eight.

 

"So, what got you into intergalactic banditry?" Izumi asks over dinner, two months into their cohabitation.  The local police presence has steadily been dropping, as more and more people assume that Hamada has somehow or other managed to escape the sector after all, and with it Izumi and Hamada's sense of urgency about the situation.  If pressed, Izumi might admit that he likes having a flat mate.  If held on the pain of death, he might even admit that he specifically likes that Hamada is his flat mate.

 

"Ah, well," Hamada begins, waving his hand in a vague gesture, "It's a typical story really.  My father died when I was young, and my mother's too ill to work.  I've got a lot of younger siblings, so I went to find good-paying work but, well, I ended up falling in with some bad folks... I send money back to them regularly.  My family thinks I work at an energy plant on Ganymede."

 

Izumi slurps up a mouthful of noodles, taking a moment to appreciate how well-seasoned they are, before saying in his most pleasant tone, "So, have you always shit from your mouth, or is that a new condition?"

  
Hamada chokes on his own mouthful of noodles, and spends the next few minutes sputtering, laughing, and hitting the table top.  Izumi finds the display a satisfying enough answer.

\--

Four months in, and Izumi no longer tenses anytime a floorboard upstairs creaks or groans while a customer is in his shop.  This is his new normal now--going to work,  leaving his flat in the care of an infamous thief, sharing meals with said thief, and fielding questions from nosy clients about why he looks so happy lately, and when did his shop get so noisy, and why doesn't anyone see him about town anymore, he used to be more social.

 

"It's nothing much," Izumi says to Sakaeguchi, the owner of the grocery store down the street who seems to have a hard time finding clothing that _doesn’t_ need hemming or adjusting.  "I've got a cat recently, is all."

"Oh?" He says, his tone not-quite-believing.  "Can I see it sometime?  I'm sure it's adorable!"

 

"Not at all," Izumi says, "It's a feral tomcat.  Snuck in through my attic, and I can't get it out.  He's really not one for strangers, unfortunately."

 

Just then, a loud thump comes from upstairs.  Sakaeguchi’s eyebrows raise, like he's caught him out in a lie.

 

"It's a really fat cat," Izumi insists.

 

There's another thump, this time followed by muffled cursing.

 

Izumi grimaces.  "I must've left the television on."

 

Sakaeguchi is not even close to buying his bullshit, and it shows.  He gathers his newly hemmed pants in the crook of his left arm, and waves his right wrist over the register.

 

"Maybe you should go check on your _cat_ ," he says, his expression knowing, "And I'd really like to meet this tomcat of yours someday!  Have a nice day, Izumi!"

 

Izumi stares determinedly at the register screen, which advises that Sakaeguchi's payment has been accepted.  

 

"Yeah, have a nice day," he mutters to his empty shop.

  
His ears burn.

\--

"Are you getting restless or something?" Izumi asks later that day, when he walks up to his flat for lunch.  "I had a customer in when you started banging around earlier.  And Sakaeguchi’s a great guy, but he’s a gossip and a romantic.  Now the whole neighborhood's going to think I'm hiding a lover up here by sundown."

 

"L-lover?" Hamada sputters, his face going red.  "I--well that's just--"

 

"Just what?" Izumi asks, one eyebrow raised. He realizes he’s not quite sure what he wants Hamada to say. He wonders distantly if it would hurt, to hear Hamada call the thought ridiculous, or impossible, and mean it.

 

"Uh, well," Hamada's face gets brighter as he flusters.  Izumi bites down on the inside of his cheek. His more anxious thoughts don’t stand a chance of survival when Hamada looks like a distressed fish.  "I mean you're very--but I'm--and--"

 

A grin breaks out on Izumi's face, and then he's laughing, holding his stomach and doubling over when he looks again at Hamada's face, now bright pink with his cheeks puffed out indignantly.

 

"For a nice person, you're so mean sometimes," Hamada says with a huff.  All the same, he makes room for Izumi on the couch.

 

"Me? A nice person?"  Izumi asks, taking the hint and sitting down, "Where'd that come from?"

 

"Uh, I dunno, the whole harboring a fugitive thing? Rent-free, even," Hamada says, with an off-hand sort of earnestness that makes Izumi feel oddly warm.

 

"Sounds more like stupidity to me," Izumi replies.

 

Hamada gives him a look, "You don't think you're stupid, though."

 

"I don't," Izumi agrees, "Though the evidence suggests I'm wrong."

 

"Oh, just admit I'm the best decision you’ve ever made," Hamada says, grin cajoling.

 

Izumi shrugs, noncommital.  "Top five, at best."

 

Hamada goes on as if he didn't hear a thing, "The _absolute_ best, certainly the most handsome and charismatic--"

 

"--Oh yes, I'm swooning where I sit--"

 

"--Intergalactic master thief Hamada Yoshiro strikes again, stealing hearts this time--"

 

"Hearts, huh?” Izumi feigns hurt. “And here I thought I was your one and only."

 

"Don't forget the news anchor, he's crazy about me, I swear."

 

"Haruna Matoki is happily married to his career, and also his cameraman.  Sorry, but you'll have to settle for second best."

 

"Settling?" Hamada repeats, incredulous, " _Second_ _best_?  Izumi, you're like winning first place!"

 

Izumi knows Hamada is joking, but again he speaks with that casual earnestness that makes Izumi _believe_ \--makes him _want_ to believe--

 

When Izumi doesn't respond, Hamada leans forward, until he's looking Izumi in the eye from far too close. A little hysteric, Izumi thinks that his couch is too large to justify this closeness.

 

"Izumi?" Hamada asks, concerned, "Uh, sorry, did I make it weird?"

 

A quiet laugh leaves Izumi on a breath, but when he meets Hamada's gaze, he loses his grip on his humor.  "So weird.  Super weird."

 

"Oh," Hamada mutters.  Izumi imagines he can almost feel his breath.  "Mind if I make it weirder?"

 

(He's not imagining it, he's not imagining any of it.)

 

"Go for it."

 

The words leave Izumi in a rush of breath and are hushed when Hamada's lips meet his.  Izumi's breath hitches, somehow still shocked even when getting exactly what's he's asked for, and then he presses back, lets his arms wind around Hamada's neck, let's Hamada's broad hands grab his hips and drag him into the other man's lap because he _wants_ this, galaxies’ worth of compressed emotion unleashed in a terrible, dizzying explosion, as unexpected yet imminent as a supernova blooming across the night sky.

 

Izumi doesn't worry about what's too much or too fast, couldn't understand the concepts of either in that moment.  All he understands is dominoes and chain reactions--he tilts his head just so, Hamada tugs on his lower lip with his teeth--his thighs squeeze tighter around Hamada's hips, and callus hands slide under his shirt, pulling him closer by the waist as his own hands scrabble at Hamada's shoulders--

 

And then a gentle _ding_ rings through the flat, indicating that someone's pressed the bell for service downstairs.

 

Izumi groans, bangs his fist against the back of the couch like somehow it’s behind the sudden appearance of a customer at that moment, but removes himself from Hamada's lap all the same.  Hamada watches Izumi get to his feet, then looks at his empty hands, and pouts.

 

Izumi rolls his eyes, but has to bite a smile down as he makes his way back into the shop, adjusting his clothes as he descends the stairs, hoping to look at least a bit like a respectable business person who does not spend his lunch hour making out with fugitives by the time he reaches his shop.

 

Judging by the grin on his customer's face, he fails entirely.

 

“Back so soon?”  Izumi says, trying to play it cool as he situates himself behind the counter, “If you missed me, you could’ve just said so.”

 

"Hello again," Sakaeguchi chirps, amusement lighting up his features.  "Is your new tomcat giving you trouble?"

 

"What?" Izumi asks, bewildered.

 

"Remember, you have a terrible feral tomcat now?" Sakaeguchi clarifies, and Izumi remembers that yes, right, that was a lie he'd propagated just this morning, wasn't it? "Though now that I think about it, I don't recall you buying any cat food recently."

 

Izumi groans.  "It hunts for itself," he says, and knows Sakaeguchi doesn't believe a word of it.

 

"Of course," Sakaeguchi agrees, indulgence in his tone.  "Anyway, I just wanted to drop off this shirt. It was in with the things I just picked up--but it's not mine."

 

"Oh," Izumi says, frowning as he takes the shirt back.  "Sorry about that.  Thanks for bringing it back."

 

"No problem!" Sakaeguchi replies, his tone cheery.  "Well, I have to get back to work now, but I'll see you around!"

 

"Yeah, see ya," Izumi replies, waving as Sakaeguchi walks out.

 

"Oh," Sakaeguchi stops at the door, "And good luck again with the cat!"

 

Izumi stands stock-still for a moment behind the shop counter.  Then, with a few decisive steps, he moves to the front of the store, locks the door, and flips the door sign to "Closed."

  
If everyone is going to be talking anyway, he decides, then he might as well give them something to talk about.   

\--

"Be honest this time--how'd you become a space bandit?"

 

Hamada pauses for a moment, his body motionless where it's perched on the edge of Izumi's bed.  Then he sighs and flops down into the empty space at Izumi's side.  His skin still radiates gentle warmth from the shower he'd just taken.  Izumi feels weirdly reptilian, basking in it.

 

"You have to promise not to laugh," Hamada says, with a Very Stern expression that suggests it’ll probably be okay to laugh a little.

 

"I will do no such thing," Izumi replies.

 

Hamada cringes, but settles in to tell the tale all the same.

 

"Honestly? Like, one-hundred-percent honestly," Hamada says, and Izumi can't quite decide if he's trying to stall of build up the suspense, "I boarded the wrong ship on my way back to school after break."

 

Izumi raises his eyebrows, repeats, "Boarded the wrong ship?"

 

"The wrong ship," Hamada confirms with a decisive nod.

 

Izumi scowls, though the expression feels oddly playful on his face.  "And how was it the wrong ship?"

 

Hamada looks to the ceiling, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth, "Well, it was, like, a pirate ship?  And no one realized I didn’t belong there until we'd left the stratosphere?"

 

"And so what?" Izumi asks, amused, "Did the ship's captain just go 'well, since you're here' and hand you a mop?"

 

"Set me to cooking, actually," Hamada says, then defends once he sees Izumi's incredulous face, "What? It was a sort of 'Join or Die' situation once we reached interplanetary space!  Captain Momoe was really cool about it though!"

 

"You liar," Izumi says, pulling his legs up so he can kick Hamada off his bed, "You bullshitting liar, I'm sending you back to the attic.  No way you wandered onto _the_ Captain Momoe's ship and lived! Get out."

 

"I'm serious!" Hamada insists, grabbing one of Izumi's ankles. His grip his gentle. "That's how I met Ren and Yuu, too!  We were all a part of the crew!  Just ask the interplanet--there are _fan shrines!_ "

 

"Uh-huh," Izumi says, still dubious, "And what's the legendary space pirate like, then?"

 

"Everything you've heard about her is true," Hamada says, with great levity.  Izumi decides to believe it.

 

"Well that must've been fun," Izumi says, flopping back down into his pillows with a wistful smile.  Hamada settles in next to him with a bit more grace.

 

"It was," Hamada agrees, "Still is, even if the crew's all scattered now."

 

A grin snaps on to his face suddenly, like he's just had a brilliant idea, "Hey!  You should come with me when I go!  It’s obvious you want to travel, so you might as well, right?"

 

"A proposal already?" Izumi replies with a salacious grin. "And here I thought I was out of practice."

  
The struggle to maintain his composure plays out clearly on Hamada's burning face, but it pays off when he says, "I'll make an honest man of you yet, Izumi Kousuke," and gets to watch Izumi dissolve into bright, warm laughter.

\--

The topic of Izumi's 'tomcat', and whether or not he's got an actual cat or a lover, lasts as _the_ debate of the neighborhood for two whole weeks before, seemingly unanimously, everyone decides that either circumstance is wholly unremarkable.

 

For the most part, Izumi ignores the gossip--mostly because his head is in the clouds.  He catches himself smiling in the middle of the day over stitches and buttons and hems and he feels ridiculous every time.  He's not some school kid with his first crush, he's an adult with a job and a life and vague plans to ditch it all to go rocketing into the sun with his new live-in boyfriend.

  
Izumi catches himself smiling again.  He bites it down best he can.

\--

"I think Haruna-san has given up on me," Hamada says with a too-cheery smile one evening when Izumi returns to the flat.  "It's been weeks, and he hasn't mentioned me once."

 

"Huh," Izumi says, as he thinks back on recent news stories.  While the hype surrounding Hamada had died down months ago, not-so-friendly reminders of how he was Still At Large, along with cherry-picked stories of his more exciting escapades had become common filler material on days when the local news was slow.  But now that Izumi thinks about it, it's true--Hamada seems to have been officially shorn from the news cycle. "Well, at least he had a beautiful dream, for a time."

 

"Awe," Hamada coos, feigning bashfulness, "You think I'm a beautiful dream?  That's sweet."

 

Izumi rolls his eyes, but says nothing to respond, choosing instead to watch Hamada fluster as he waits for a denial to sap the sappiness out of the exchange.

 

"Ok, Izumi, please just--" Hamada covers his burning face with his hands, "Just call me a nightmare or a troll or something.  Please."

  
Izumi does absolutely nothing to save Hamada from his own embarrassment, just runs his hand through Hamada's hair as he passes behind the couch on his way to the kitchen.

\--

When the end comes, it catches Izumi entirely off his guard, and he loathes himself, just a little, for having let it.

 

"Good morning officers," Izumi greets Hanai and Suyama brightly, fear a faraway concept.  He's started seeing both around with some frequency--or more like, he actually recognizes them when they cross paths on the street now--and he likes to think they've fallen into a comfortable rapport.  "What can I do for you today?"

 

Suyama gives Izumi a sad, disappointed look from across the counter, and that's when Izumi starts to realize that this visit is all business--and not tailoring business.

 

"To start with," Hanai says, tapping his badge, "We'd like to search the premises.  We have a warrant."

 

The warrant flickers into existence not a second later, holographic script glittering in the space just in front of Hanai's badge.

 

"I see," Izumi says slowly, moving out from behind the counter.  "And what are you looking for, exactly?"

 

"A neighbor called in, claiming they'd seen Hamada Yoshiro through one of your windows," Suyama says, oddly apologetic.  He taps his own badge, which blinks before throwing up a new image.  "They had a picture."

 

Izumi stares at the picture, date-stamped for just a few hours previous, and feels sick.  That's his window frame around the borders of the shot, and through it his own bedroom, and there, dead center before the window, Hamada, pulling on the vest he'd worn the day he'd first run into Izumi's shop, his eyes trained on whoever was behind the camera, not looking the least bit surprised.

 

"Come this way," Izumi says, walking dazedly to the back stairs that lead to his apartment.  One of them speaks into a comm band, says something about securing the area.  He hears the sounds of heavy boots walking around and inside his shop a second later.

 

Vaguely, Izumi considers that maybe he should stall for time, maybe try to warn Hamada in some way, to give him a chance to flee--only he knows before he even opens the door, before he sees the dead walls and the empty couch, that Hamada is already long gone.

 

Izumi sits on the couch as the police make to ransack his home, and realizes he's cold.  Not enough to shake, and not because the desert gets any kind of chilly during the day, but just.  Cold.  A far-off part of his mind wonders what damning evidence Hanai and Suyama are stumbling over.   Had Hamada done the dishes before he left, or were there still two plates out on the table, sticky with traces of syrup and pancake?  Did he take his toothbrush with him, or leave it by the sink, next to Izumi's?  Had he left a note behind?  Had he signed it?

 

Some time later, Hanai hands Izumi a slip of paper, his eyes averted and guilty.  Izumi takes the note in his clammy hands, takes nothing away nothing from its short message except that the bastard had signed it.

 

"Izumi Kousuke," Hanai announces, taking the note back and handing it to Suyama, "You're under arrest for obstruction of justice and harboring a known criminal. Your rights are as follows..."

  
Izumi hears none of it, and finds he doesn't care.

\--

Twelve hours of trying and failing to get comfortable in a holding cell later, and Izumi finds that he now cares _very much_ about how he came to be in this situation.   

 

How _dare_ Hamada let him get arrested?  If he'd wanted to leave, why hadn't he just _said_ something, or written something more substantial in his note, rather than some bullshit message about being back for lunch? How dare he run off into the sunset, unconcerned with who he'd left behind or who'd _fucking_ photographed him on his way out?

 

What good there is in Izumi begs him to have faith--that this is a mistake, that Hamada hadn't intended this, or that he has a bigger plan.  He manages to maintain this line of thinking for an hour or so, then cycles back to anger, then exhaustion.  The holding area is quiet and he's grateful, at least, that he gets to pity himself in peace.

 

"Izumi Kousuke?"  A voice that's just the wrong side of chipper calls, throwing a wrench in Izumi's diligent pity party planning. "You're being released."

 

"Am I?" Izumi asks, his tone sardonic, like he doesn't quite believe it.  But he stands up anyway, and makes his way toward the cell's entrance, which says all it can about what he wants to believe.

 

The guard grins, and holds what looks like a laser pointer to the lock pad.  The mechanism unlocks with a whir and a click, and just like that, the gate is opened.

 

Izumi takes one hesitant step out of the cell, squinting at the guard all the while.  His face looks vaguely familiar; maybe they live in the same area, or went to school together?   Freckles, freckles, who did he know who had freckles--?

 

It hits him all at once--this isn't someone _he_ knows, but someone _Hamada_ knows.  It's _Tajima_ , Tajima Yuuichirou, and as they walk toward the door he sees a tall, jittery man keeping watch and recognizes him as Mihashi Ren.  Tajima pats his cohort's shoulder and mutters, "It's game time, ace."  They take a deep breath in unison, and then, as if by magic, their posture and expressions transform them into two men that seemed to be, undeniably, confident officers of the law.

 

All in all, it takes less than ten minutes full of anticlimax for them to walk Izumi right out of police custody, and into a hover car manned by a very grumpy stranger, who utterly shatters his own tough guy image by taking hold of Mihashi's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze the moment the car doors slide shut.

 

"So what's our destination, exactly?" Izumi asks the car at large as it speeds forward.  Considering his company, he could be headed anywhere.

 

"Hamada," Tajima answers brightly, as if that were an answer at all.

 

If it's fickle for his heart to cycle back to hope at that precise moment, well--Izumi thinks he can be forgiven.

 

"H-Hama-chan said! Um!" Mihashi cuts in, turning in the passenger seat until he can look Izumi in the eye, "H-he said to tell you he got you lunch, and a-a-also, please don't kill him!"

 

Izumi laughs, harder than he expected to, "Well, since you asked so nicely."

 

Mihashi brightens, as though Hamada's ( _Hama-chan_ , Izumi thinks, and snorts) imminent death had been a genuine concern of his.

 

"And where is Hamada, anyway?" Izumi asks, once he's calmed down some.  Outside his window, the town peters off into red sand and open space.

 

Before anyone can answer, the hover car jerks to a sudden stop, just as something bright and fast practically _drops_ from the sky, less than two meters ahead of them.

 

"There," Tajima says, watching as russet dust settles around the car, "He had to pick up your ride!"

 

“Ah,” Izumi hums, like Tajima had pointed out something more subtle.  "I see that now."

 

"Alright," the grumpy man (who is still holding Mihashi's hand) says, "Time for you to get going.  We've got our own escape to make."

 

"Right," Izumi says, as the door on his side slides open, "Thanks, um."

 

"Abe," the man answers, "Now move it."

 

Izumi doesn't need to be told again.  He jumps out of the hover car and runs for the ship--for _Hamada's_ ship--and doesn't look back.

\--

 

Izumi feels the space ship lurch off the ground before the hatch has even fully closed behind him.  He stands there in the entryway a moment, processing the past so many minutes, before he moves forward.  He's not sure where he's going, or where he's supposed to go, but there only seems to be one hallway, so he follows it and pokes his head into each room, until he reaches the end.

 

He hesitates, for a moment, outside the door to what must be the bridge.  Then he takes a deep breath, and makes the decision to be happy.  He's not going to rot in a cell for who knows how long. Hamada _did_ have a plan after all.  He utterly _failed_ to keep Izumi in the loop about it, but he's also bought them time enough to work on their communication skills.

 

The doors open.  Izumi hasn't moved.  On the other side, Hamada stands, wary and hopeful all at once.

 

"Um," Hamada begins, eloquently. "Sorry, your lunch got cold.”

 

Izumi raises an eyebrow. “Did it now.”

 

A cautious silence passes between them.

 

“Wanna come in?"

 

Izumi can't just _be_ happy, not yet.  So instead of answering, he raises up one hand, his middle and index finger held out, his ring and little finger folded in against his palm, and presses the tip of his finger gun to Hamada's chest.

 

"You've got thirty seconds to explain yourself," Izumi says, “Or I shoot.”

 

Hamada gulps, as if Izumi's hand is lethal, but nonetheless manages to say, "I needed a distraction to get my ship, and a distraction to get you. Your arrest distracted the authorities while I got my ship, and my missing ship distracted them while my friends got you."

 

Izumi blinked, incredulous, "And that worked?" He asks, even though every part of his current reality screams that it did.

 

Hamada doesn't answer, just takes hold of Izumi's outstretched hand and lowers it.  

 

"I'm sorry," he says, after a moment, "I really didn't mean to leave you in the dark about it.  I knew Ren and Yuu would be back in the area soon, but I didn’t mean to do this today, really."

 

"Then why did you?" Izumi asks,  as he steps over the threshold and firmly into Hamada's personal space.

 

"Honestly?" Hamada replies, "You left the window open yesterday morning.  The old lady across the street saw me trying to close the blinds and, well, it was as good a time as any, so."

 

Izumi's jaw drops. "I didn't."

 

Hamada hums, amused, "You totally did."

 

Izumi drops his head on to Hamada's shoulder and groans. "I can't even be mad at you now. This is such bullshit."

 

Hamada doesn't laugh out loud, but Izumi can feel him shaking with the urge to.

 

"How about," he says, once he's composed himself some, "Instead of being mad, you pick out where we should go next?"

 

Izumi pulls away, a smile half-way onto his face before he can think to push down his excitement. "I get to choose?"

 

"Sure do," Hamada confirms.  The hand still holding Izumi adjusts, until their fingers slide together comfortably.  Familiarly. "So, got any ideas?"

 

Izumi looks out, over Hamada's shoulder to the windows, and the uninterrupted view of the stars they offer.  His grip on Hamada's hand tightens.

 

"Yeah," he says, smiling.  "I have a few."

 


End file.
